The Situations Are Irrelevant Now
by Problem Gurl
Summary: The night Rosalie became a Cullen... what happened? M to be completely safe, due to violence, and sexual references. R&R? I'd be much obliged.


I'd never envied anyone, ever.

Until now. I held Vera's angelic little boy in my arms, eyes wide. He slept peacefully, nestled against my bosom, his lips parted to form a perfect little 'o'. Tight black curls covered his precious head, and on his breathe was the scent of milk. He was the most perfect little thing I'd ever seen.

I could sense my friend observing me from across her small living room, pleased by my rapturous expression. She knew my ego, and had finally discovered my weakness. It wasn't a gloating satisfaction, she was just pleased to find me so awestricken over something.

"Oh Vera." I breathed, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to reign in my longing. Suddenly, _this _was everything I wanted. I wanted a dozen pretty, angel faced babies. Golden heads and azure eyes, angel children. And I could have them, in a few short months. Royce would happily oblige, I was sure. For a moment, I was lost in my fantasy; my own blissful family. My beautiful children, boys and girls alike, all mirror images of myself and Royce. I would have everything then, money, power, and a family of my very own.

The doorknob turned, and Vera's husband walked in, interrupting my daydreams.

He was disheveled, and worn. But an adoring smile lit his face when he saw his wife, who rose and flew across the room to him. His thick arms wound around her waist, clasping her to his chest. He kissed her lightly, though intimately. I glanced away, but looked back. The expression in his eye, the indulgent, tender expression. Royce had never looked at me like that, ever. It had never mattered before now, but it occurred to me that he looked at me as if I was a possession.

"The Dr. Cullen told you to take it easy." Vera's husband murmured into her hair, inhaling the lemon scent of her shampoo. It was her favorite fragrance, fresh, tangy, lemony.

Vera sighed. "I am. Rose came to visit, she's been a great help." Vera's husband then looked at me, for the first time since his arrival noticing he had company in his home. A wry smile twisted his lips briefly, before he greeted me politely.

Vera returned to her seat, lowering herself carefully. She held out her arms to me, a sign I should return the boy. As if on a cue, he began to fidget, a tiny cry escaping his mouth. I became terrified of the fussing creature, terrified I'd done something wrong to make him wail like that. Frozen and horrified, I gazed at my long time friend.

"It's fine Rose," she soothed, "he's just hungry."

I stretched out my arms, exceptionally careful to keep my grip on her precious boy, laying him in her arms with care. Her husband shrugs out of his coat, hanging it by the door, before crossing the room to sit beside her.

The comfort and love they share rolled off in waves. It was suffocating me, but my expression remained demure and pleasant.

"Well, it's certainly late. I suppose I should be getting home." I said, smiling and shrugging my slender shoulders.

"Would you like me to call your father so he can come and escort you home?" Vera's husband asks, concern written on his face. Politely, I decline. It's not a far walk at all, no need to disturb my father. Standing, and smoothing my pale pink skirt, I went to the door and slipped into my coat. Buttoning it, and feeling pretty and fashionable, I escaped their adoring faces and into the chilled night.

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat, I began to walk. I watched my breath billow out from my mouth, thinking back to my previous fantasy. So many lovely babies, all mine, and more beautiful than any one else's, more adorable than Vera's Henry even. I liked that, the superiority. I was young, I was beautiful, and soon I would be wealthy. I was to live everyone's dream.

Then the weather began to concern me, it was much too cold for late April. My wedding couldn't be moved indoors! Silently, I willed it to become warmer, be perfect for me. If I could have everything else, why not this as well?

It wasn't long after I began walking that three raucous men emerged from an inconspicuous bar, stumbling into each other and braying with laughter. I began to walk quicker, my steps loud on the street. It wasn't until he called my name did I turn around.

"Here's my Rose!" My fiancée shouted, drunk and ignorant. "You're late. We're cold, you've kept us waiting so long."

I stammered an apology, cringing away from the booze on his breathe. I'd never seen him drink, and this behavior was alarming.

"What did I tell you, John, isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?" Royce wrapped his fingers around my upper arm, hauling my closer to him. I stumbled a bit, catching myself lightly on his chest. The manner in which John was looking at me was degrading, like I was an animal up for sale. A broodmare. "It's hard to tell, she's all covered up," I hated his stupid, slow, Southern drawl, all superior and condescending.

I began to pull away from Royce, when he ripped the jacket off me, which had originally been a gift from him. The ornate brass buttons popped off, rolling in every direction along the dimly lit street.

"Show him what you look like Rose!" He laughed, tearing the hat from my head, along with a considerable amount of my hair. I cried out, pain flashing across my scalp. They liked that.

Suddenly, there was more than one set of eager hands on my body, pulling me in opposite directions. Another cry escaped my lips, but was lost in the grunts and cruel laughter of Royce and his brutal friends. A fist connected with my cheek, as I slapped a hand away from the zipper of my skirt. My neck snapped backwards, and my eyes popped. I was absolutely terrified at this point, beyond angry, and beyond violated. Hands curled around my wrists, pinning them roughly against my back. So tightly, pain blossomed in my shoulders.

I was shoved to the cold, unrelenting ground, briefly aware that my skirt had ridden up my thighs. I was cold, bone deep. I, at one point, had begun to cry quietly. This was not supposed to happen, not to me! If I survived this, he wouldn't marry me. I'm sure he'd place the blame on anyone but himself, and then when I pointed my accusatory finger, he's insist I was reacting the to trauma.

Royce was the first to enter me.

I screamed, screamed, screamed. But my cries were cut short, by whomever placing a silencing hand atop my mouth. Royce thrust hard, hard enough to make it more painful than was necessary. Surely he'd tear me apart from the inside, as it felt like he was doing now. Pounding away at me, my tender body unused to this punishment. I began to hyperventilate, although the hand across my mouth made that difficult.

Suddenly, I was suffocating. Suffocating, and being ripped apart. I was limply vertical, but now, two men were entering me.

Had anyone, anyone ever, been so completely humiliated and degraded?

By their fiancée, no less.

Hate was not adequate. Hate was not what I felt, it was much too powerful. Loathing would not do my fury justice either. A brilliant white flame blossomed behind my eyes, and I began to fade. No longer did I feel the ceaseless thrusting, the sadistic pinches, or the slaps. No longer was I conscious of the blood trickling out of various wounds on my body.

Eventually, they all left.

Left me.

I was a crumpled hap on the street, a bleeding, pathetic mess beneath a flickering streetlamp.

Now, there was only the wait. It seemed utterly unfair to me, that I had to wait to die. After all that I had endured, I still lived. Vaguely, I wondered who would come across me first. I didn't care as much as I had earlier. I was a disgrace now, but if I was to die anyway, that shouldn't matter.

Someone was hovering above me.

It was the doctor, Dr. Cullen. I wanted to shy away from him, tell him not to save me. He couldn't, not at this point. I would prefer he not waste his efforts on me, I did not like him, and it made everything worse that he was a compassionate man attempting to save a dead woman.

As soon as he had me cradled in his arms, we were flying.

So this was the answer to the mystery then? The beautiful, enigmatic Carlisle Cullen was an angel? Did that make his wife and brother angels, too? I was not sure, instead, I drifted.

We didn't fly long.

The doctor had placed me on a bed, or perhaps an examination table, I couldn't discern if it was comfortable or not. It didn't matter. Nothing would, soon.

Until the pain, and the burning.

Razors brushed my wrists, my throat, my ankles. I shrieked my indignation, for had I not been tormented enough, for a lifetime? He apologized to me, a grim anticipation in his voice.

And then I was on fire.

Flames ran through my veins, spreading from where the razors had cut me. It was not rapid, but did consume my whole being, as fire tends to do. Oh, but what a determinedly cruel fire it was. It lingered in my veins, and my body absorbed it. I began screaming, only this time, no hand forced the sound back down my throat. He apologized again and again, after each scream. I begged for him to kill me, sometimes lurching towards him, pleading with my voice and eyes.

He was never so merciful as to kill me.

Eventually, I realized that my begging would get me nowhere. Screaming wouldn't help either.

Later, I heard Edward speak. I listened to them discuss me, briefly noticing that the fire had began to recede.

And then it was gone. A newfound strength flooded my granite body, and flames, reminiscent of my torture earlier, blistered my throat. But I was patient.

I listened to Carlisle explain what I had become, with minimal distraction. Edward was skeptic, while Esme was welcoming.

I excused myself.

The face that stared back at me, the woman there… she was me, she was the single most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Would ever see. I was pleased when a vindictive, malicious smile spread across her lips, and the thoughts of vengeance seeped into her mind.

_My_ mind.


End file.
